


Interlock

by glacis



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-29
Updated: 2010-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-06 19:47:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glacis/pseuds/glacis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Fellowship break their journey at a hot spring. Legolas takes a bath. Boromir gets a surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlock

_Interlock, for MG _ [ (sequel is Into the Arms of Death) ](http://www.castleskeep.net/Armsofdeath.htm)

The son of Gondor had caught his attention early, his misguided passion at the Council of the Ring leading to their first confrontation. The look in his eyes had fascinated Legolas, from fire to disbelief to hope to repudiation in the space of two heartbeats. Boromir, son of Denethor, first line of defense against Mordor, warrior and secret dreamer, convinced the One Ring could be his weapon, unknowing that it would be his downfall.

Legolas saw it, that first meeting as Boromir turned away from Aragorn, saw it again as he joined the Fellowship, last to do so, first to raise doubts on their quest. The ambivalence of Isildur ran more strongly in his veins than it did in Aragorn's blood, for all the Heir's fear of falling to the weakness of his ancestor. Boromir's instinct to protect Gondor near overrode all else, and Legolas watched him closely, fearing treachery with the purest of intent.

It was no hardship added to his watch that Boromir was comely, strongly built in the way of Men, coarser than Aragorn, with a homely touch seen only in quiet times with the Halflings. Legolas kept watch for the Fellowship, and in the course of his watchfulness learned many things. Boromir, as befitted the son of the Steward of his people, possessed a great well of protectiveness toward those he saw as weaker than himself, mistaken though he might be. He was gentle with Merry and Pip, watchful of Frodo and Sam, with an awkward humor and an abiding hope he tried hard to disguise as pragmatism. His spirit was fierce, single-minded, and beneath the harsh front, fraught with doubt. For while his waking self fought, protected and engaged in rough camaraderie, his sleeping self dreamed.

Those dreams haunted him. They intrigued Legolas.

The way to Mordor from Imladris was long, beset with troubles from Isengard and the Dark Lord both. Sauron's Orc, Saruman's spies, the usual pitfalls of long travel in wild places, conspired to draw the band together, as each learned to rely on the others' strengths to balance their weaknesses.

The Hobbits were both bearers of the heaviest burden and creators of comfort, their spirits giving mirth an opportunity to visit, in the rare times they could rest. Gandalf gave guidance and wisdom, and Legolas spent many a long night sharing quiet counsel with the Maiar. From Aragorn, Legolas drew on the warmth of his friendship and freely followed his lead. Gimli, son of Glo'in, was proving to be an excellent companion, a fact that caused Legolas no small confusion, given his typically Elvish opinion of Dwarves. Legolas himself provided his ready bow, long sight and quick hands. And Boromir ...

Boromir was becoming a distraction.

Some days into their journey, Legolas came to a decision. It was a matter of time and opportunity for him to act upon it. That moment came, late one afternoon after long marches through difficult terrain complicated by several skirmishes with Orc, when the band chanced upon a stream. Pippin made to throw himself in it with his usual abandon, but Aragorn caught him mid-leap.

"No," he cautioned, "this is dor duin." Six pairs of eyes stared at him, Hobbit, Man and Dwarf, uncomprehending. He explained, "Poison to the tongue. We will make camp further upstream, where the water is pure. This carries the sulfur of a hot spring in its current."

A quiet babble broke out amongst the band, but two words caught like magic in Legolas' ear. Hot spring. Eithelros. In which to bathe. His keen nose, assaulted by their combined reek for days, nearly watered with relief. A bath!

Stepping lightly over to Aragorn's side, he gave a suggestion. "Most of us are weary from our travels, and all would be better for a few hours' rest. If we make camp now, we can avail ourselves of the spring. What little time will be lost might be more than made up in refreshed bodies and spirits."

Aragorn nodded assent, and soon the band were settled in a clearing some way upstream from the spring. Legolas, wishing to ensure their rest was not interrupted, took it upon himself to patrol the area extensively whilst the others made use of the steaming water. The fact that this would allow him privacy and quiet for his own ablutions later that night was an added benefit.

Keeping an ear cocked toward the frolicking Hobbits, laughter bubbling up from them as they were dunked by Boromir, and Aragorn, sighing contentedly as the steam relaxed his muscles, Legolas extended his perimeter search until the sounds abated and he was content that no threat lingered in the immediate vicinity. Returning silently to camp, he passed over his vigilance to Gandalf, who gave him a wink. Legolas answered with a smile, then turned toward the spring, anticipation lending his feet wings.

He knew before he broke cover that he was not alone, but Boromir made no move to announce his presence, sitting unnoticeable to less discerning eyes on a rock to the far side of the spring. Legolas gave him a moment, from courtesy, but Boromir made neither sound nor movement. Hiding a smile, certain in his mind that Boromir thought himself undiscovered, Legolas decided that the time had come to ease his distraction.

Stripping slowly, he carefully placed his weapons, clothing and boots on a flat rock out of reach of the splashing water. He stood at the side of the steaming spring for long moments, luxuriating in the heat seeping into his skin, flushing and relaxing him. Stretching his arms to the sky, allowing his head to fall back, he arched, giving Boromir the performance his silence had demanded. True to his expectations, a tiny sound, a gasp or perhaps a stifled curse, drifted to his ears. His smile escaped, curving his lips, lighting his eyes.

Once properly stretched, he slid into the water, slowly, enjoying the immersion, from toes to scalp. Dipping his head, he wetted his hair thoroughly, unbraiding his hair and scrubbing the long strands until they gleamed. Wiping water from his eyes, he caught a ghost of movement from the corner of his vision. Boromir had shifted closer, but still remained in the shadows, as if drawn forward by the Elf's spectacle despite himself.

Legolas tipped his head back in the water, relaxing his limbs, floating free, carried by the stream of bubbles pushed up from the core of the earth. The water might be poison to the tongue, but it was bliss to the body, and Legolas reveled in it. Closing his eyes, he heard rustling in the underbrush, as Boromir attempted to make his escape unnoticed.

His effort was futile from the outset, as unbeknownst to him Legolas had known of his presence all along. Unfortunately for his intention, he had to pass within a few feet of Legolas, now leaning against the rock side of the spring, in order to return to camp. Legolas waited until he heard the scrape of boot on rock directly behind him, then said softly, "Join me," the words a cross between invitation and command.

Boromir reacted precisely as Legolas expected. He froze in his tracks. Looking back over his shoulder, the Elf gazed at the Man silently. The moment stretched, as Legolas left the decision to stay or go up entirely to the Man.

Who chose to stay.

His gaze was locked with Legolas', green eyes lit from within as he undressed quickly. He nearly overbalanced as he stepped from his boots, but the Elf held back his laughter, knowing even the slightest upset in the blossoming tension between them would tip the balance in favor of Boromir fleeing. Finally, as the last drape of cloth landed atop the pile of discarded clothing, Legolas allowed a smile to curve his lips. Of appreciation, not mirth.

For the Man was certainly worthy of admiration. The firm body was dense with muscle, lightly furred with licks of golden brown hair, finer and lighter than that on his head. His head held proud, he paused for a moment to allow Legolas to return the examination to which he'd subjected the Elf, his innate sense of fair play showing in intimacy as it never would in the course of their mission, clouded as his judgment was by the need to protect his people.

His arms were finely wrought, bulkier than any Elf, his chest broad, his hips narrow, his legs sturdy and straight. The wash of fine hair on his chest became denser lower, until it bunched in thick dark curls about his penis, which stood already half-hard under the heat of Legolas' gaze. His smile broadening with invitation, Legolas set himself adrift from the rock, further into the spring, one hand rising to beckon Boromir to join him in the bubbling water.

Needing no further urging, Boromir climbed with more strength than grace down the rocks, his eyes still on Legolas, not attending his movements. Thankfully it was a short climb, and in a moment he was within a handspan of Legolas. He stayed there, hands caught between reaching and holding back, waiting for a sign from the Elf. Permission, or encouragement, or perhaps an indication of how Legolas would prefer to be touched.

Noting his hesitation, Legolas reached out first. Running the tips of his fingers through the Man's hair, a blend of brown bark, darkest gold and scattered strands of fiery auburn, he drew Boromir close enough for their bodies to meet along the length of them. He could look later. First, he needed to touch.

Soft skin, where it was protected by clothing and armor, pale as cream, dotted with freckles, dusted with the lightest coating of hair, teased Legolas' hands. Harsher, where the wind and elements kissed it, cool from the night air, rapidly warming under the influence of the steam rising around them. Blood rose in Boromir's cheek, whether from the heated water or arousal or a combination of both, the flush causing his eyes to glitter like leaves in the fullness of summer sunlight.

Exploring further, Legolas' palms skimmed over Boromir's body, tracing the length of bone and sinew from jaw down throat over shoulder to the flat planes and rounded muscles of his back. His touch broke Boromir's restraint, and with a groan that shook his body, the Man's hands dove through the water to encircle Legolas' waist, thewy arms drawing him closer yet as ravenous lips covered his mouth.

Closing his eyes, the better to concentrate on the feel of skin against skin, mouth against mouth, hands trailing restless over one another, Legolas came near to drowning in Boromir's hunger. How long had it been since the Man had been touched in friendship, not battle? Since his needs had been allowed free rein, and the tenderness he hid so thoroughly slipped its bonds to play?

The rasp of beard over sensitive skin as Boromir left Legolas' mouth to taste his throat caught the Elf's thoughts and sent them spinning away. Regardless of the time since such skills were last used, Boromir knew well the ways of the flesh, and he devoured Legolas with the single-minded devotion that so marked the Man at all other times.

Awash in sensation, Legolas allowed himself to be taken, overrun and worshipped. Boromir made love as he made war, with every atom of his being and astonishing stamina for a Man. Pushing Legolas against the side of the spring, Boromir lowered his head to Legolas' groin and inhaled him, careful even in his need to refrain from causing damage, a precaution Legolas appreciated but which was unnecessary, Elves being hardier than they looked.

In too little time Legolas found himself arching into Boromir's mouth, fists entangled in the fine steam-dark hair, groin moving uncontrollably under the assault of teeth and tongue and hands. The mouth cradling him finished with long kisses and tiny bites, covering Legolas from sac to stomach, then roaming the length of his torso to linger at his chest for long moments. Legolas, nearly in a stupor of relaxation from the combination of steam and satiation, lay against the rocks and made a sound not unlike the purr of a cat.

But stamina was the trademark of the Elven folk, and no matter how well a Man might master the trait, innate superiority remained with the Elf. As Boromir's face rose to his to steal another kiss, his mouth tasting of Legolas and apples with the underlying tang of the minerals in the water, Legolas caught him by surprise. Without breaking the kiss, he turned them in the water, until Boromir was against the rocks, and Legolas was free to play.

Inquisitive fingers followed the long line of muscle bordering Boromir's ribs, and despite his arousal, the Man couldn't help laughing. It was a trick Legolas had seen the Hobbits use more than once to bring down their larger opponent, and it worked as well in loveplay. When Boromir was helpless and breathless, Legolas ceased the torment and flowed down below the surface of the water.

Blocking the taste of sulfur with the salt of Boromir's flesh, Legolas took the length of him deep down his throat. Strong hands caught at his head, pulling him closer before checking, and the small lapse was sweet victory to Legolas. For a Man so hot in his passions, his control was surprisingly difficult to break. Perhaps a legacy of lying with women, this need to forever hold back. Or perhaps, despite evidence of his recent experience to the contrary, he somehow believed the Elf to be fragile.

Legolas set about disabusing him of this odd notion, if indeed it was the cause of his behavior. Suckling strongly, he worked his hand between Boromir's splayed thighs, stroking and pressing. The first intrusion of his fingertips in the Man's body caused the flesh in his mouth to buck wildly, and Legolas knew he had him.

Breath becoming necessary, Legolas drew slowly off the prick begging for him, nibbling and licking as he went. Lifting his head from the water, Boromir's hands sliding over his wet hair, unable to find purchase, Legolas tossed his head to clear his face and dove in for a quick, hard kiss. Boromir looked near the end of his endurance, the flush now hectic in his cheeks, his eyes slitted and glittering, his jaw so tightly clenched the stiff bristles of his beard stood out from his skin.

Without hesitation or warning, Legolas lifted Boromir bodily from the water, ignoring his shocked exclamation, and lay him flat on the rock rim of the spring. Before the Man could catch his breath, Legolas straddled him, one hand steady about Boromir's prick, the other pressed over his heart, holding him down.

His precaution was fortuitous, for when he sat down, taking Boromir into him completely in a single stroke, the Man arched beneath him, and were it not for Legolas' hold, would have thrown him off. The sound issuing from Boromir's throat now resembled pain as much as pleasure, and Legolas leaned forward carefully, closing his mouth over the center of the Man's throat, trapping the vibration against his tongue.

Only when it stilled, and the heart thundering against his had regained some semblance of normal rhythm, did Legolas resume his motion. Letting loose the salty skin beneath his teeth reluctantly, he licked across the bite once before sitting upright again. Shifting his hips, he moved the bulk within him subtly. With each tiny movement Boromir groaned, harsh panting noises that echoed off the rocks and drowned the sound of the splashing water.

It was as well that camp was some way to the north of the spring, for surely their play would have drawn the others by now, loud as it had become. Legolas grinned wickedly, and moved his arse more strongly, eliciting a scream from Boromir that mimicked the cry of a wounded boar. A distinctly satisfying reaction, begging further movement. Legolas happily complied.

His hands now busy at Boromir's chest, the Man's own hands clamped about his waist like the jaws of a trap, Legolas put his back into it, pulling away then slamming down with near-full strength. Not wishing to actually damage the Man, he didn't lose all his inhibitions, for if he moved as he wished he would no doubt break the pelvis he was riding.

Boromir had no complaints, judging by the wild look in his eyes and the forceful if minimal thrusts with which he was able to meet Legolas' movements. Sound was an intuitive measure of pleasure, Boromir being unable to form words by that point. But his choked gasps were encouraging.

Teased beyond endurance, too soon he neared his peak, and Legolas reached behind himself, drawing down the tightening balls with the edge of his hand. Boromir's voice broke on a frustrated cry, and Legolas stilled completely, staring down at the Man in full disarray beneath him. Boromir shuddered, and Legolas carefully lifted his hand. When orgasm remained at bay, he leaned over for one more deep kiss. His tongue roamed freely in Boromir's mouth, playing along the edge of teeth, the softness of lips, the press of tongue back against his own.

Then withdrawing his tongue but leaving their lips sealed together, Legolas shifted his hips a scant few inches and pressed down again, whipping against Boromir over and over, driving the Man to his peak. Boromir screamed a final time, and Legolas swallowed the sound with his mouth as his body absorbed Boromir's seed, the overflow seeping from him to coat the trembling thighs between his own.

Breaking the kiss, straightening his back and feeling Boromir's softening prick try unsuccessfully to escape the damp confines still holding it, Legolas settled firmly against Boromir's groin. Taking one of the Man's hands, Legolas pulled it forward until it rested beneath his sac. With the sweaty heat of Boromir's palm cradling him, Legolas commenced milking his own prick, rougher and faster than anything Boromir would give him. In moments, his climax was upon him.

His muscles clenched around the flesh still within him, and Boromir groaned deeply, eyes locked to Legolas' body as he spasmed. The hand cupping Legolas' straining balls petted them gently, his other hand reaching out to pinch one tight nipple, and the additional touch was precisely what Legolas needed. Spilling the last of his seed across Boromir's belly, Legolas folded gracefully over him, coming at last to rest against his chest.

Freed of its constraint, Boromir's prick slipped from him, and Boromir's arms wrapped around him tightly. Long moments passed. The strength around him, the steam obscuring them, the release they'd found with one another, combined to relax Legolas completely for the first time since they'd left Imladris.

Eventually, Boromir began to move restlessly beneath Legolas' weight, pressed as he was into the rock. Legolas lifted his head lazily from its warm pillow against Boromir's shoulder, and grinned down at the Man, whose expression was an odd mix of satiation, embarrassment, and confusion.

"What now?" Boromir asked in a low voice.

Legolas saw the uncertainty in the Man's eyes, and dealt with it before it could deepen. Boromir had enough doubts with which to contend. Legolas intended to ease his mind, not further shadow it.

"Now, we go on," he answered quietly, "closer, and at ease with one another." Confusion gave way to appreciation in the forest-green eyes blinking up at his, and Legolas' grin grew mischievous. "But first ..." he rolled off Boromir, extending a hand to help him rise, then unexpectedly pushing him into the spring, "Another bath!"

 **_end_**

 

Sindarin (Elvish literal translations):

dor duin - earth river, or water carrying elements of the earth (in this case, sulfur)

eithelros - foaming spring


End file.
